Page 69 of Outlaw Witch

The book has answersall right. But none of them are good.

I groan, rubbing my tired eyes and meeting Zeph’s gaze across the table. We’ve been trading turns poring over the tiny text and the tissue thin pages and both of us are visibly drained. Half of it is in archaic language that my brain can’t handle and the other half is made up of disturbing images. Some of which have made me feel sick to my stomach.

Roscoe’s with Fabian, distracting him next door, while Zeph and I sit across from each other at the coffee table in my apartment. We’re... getting along.

I guess we don’t drive each other insane when neither of us is speaking.

“So this—” Zeph croaks after we’ve been at it a couple of hours. “—this is what’ll happen to him?”

He taps the page with his thick fingers. It details a full system deterioration where Fabian’s body will rot from the inside out.

The book spares no detail, and the details are stomach churning. Horrific.

But that’s not even the worst part of it all. That would be the part where the curse continues to keep Fabian alive as a walking, talking husk of a person. Not a vampire. Not a wraith.

Something else entirely.

He’ll live and he’ll suffer until it decides it’s time to move on to another warm body.

“You talk a lot of shit,” Zeph says, and I snort. So much for us getting along. “But,” he continues. “You’re not always wrong. You’ve insinuated before that I’m shit at talking to people and making friends. That’s accurate enough. It’s never been my thing, doing or saying what you’re supposed to for people to like you.”

Zeph keeps on talking, keeping his eyes firmly on his hands. I don’t dare move in case it reminds him of my presence and causes him to stop. This is the most he’s ever said to me that isn’t a tumult of acerbic remarks, and I don’t want to disturb him when he’s actually opening up to me.

“I didn’t have a lot of friends as a kid and then I moved here. Fabian didn’t even question it, just looked at me and decided we were gonna be tight. My mom warned me about this place, said it was ruled by devils and sin. She didn’t open her eyes enough to know the real devil was at home in her bed.”

“Z, you don’t need to tell me any of this,” I tell him, uncomfortable with the way he’s opening up like this.

“My stepfather was a vamp. He couldn’t ever work out if he hated me or liked me a little too much. Lucky I was always a big kid, and I got out of there in time, or he could have messed me up even worse than I am.” He huffs a soft breath. “Coming here was like being set free. Most of that was Fabian’s influence.” Zeph leans back against the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“I wish you’d seen him a year back, then you’d get it. Right now, he can’t even leave the fucking house. His head’s a mess and he’s even less focused than Roscoe. Our jobs are all in limbo right now, but that’s not even the biggest thing that’s fucked. Weneedhim. Not just me and Roscoe either. This entire building does. This whole damn district.”

I hesitate for a moment before taking a risk and reaching out to pat him on the forearm.

“You don’t need to convince me, Z. I get it.”

He nods and clears his throat, turning his blank stare back to the tabletop. I slide the book back to my side of the coffee table.

Silence falls between us again. But it feels kind of strained and I know exactly why. There’s a tension in Zeph’s shoulders as he realizes how much he just shared with me. While I’ve given him exactly nothing in return.

Not that that’s unusual. Most of the people I’ve communicated with in over a decade don’t know anything about me. Nothingreal, anyway.

So why does it feel so weird? So one-sided?

And why am I feeling... guilty about that.

Maybe because I get the impression that Zeph doesn’t open up much to anyone. Him telling me about his abusive, piece of shit stepfather seems to have surprised him as much as it surprised me. The fact he was a vamp certainly explains at least some of the animosity Zeph has toward them.

Which leaves things uneven between the two of us. And oh, so awkward.

“My parents were both assholes,” I tell him, and he looks up at me sharply.

Dammit, I left it too long, didn’t I? We’ve both been stewing in silence for whole minutes and now it’s weird that I’m baring a tiny piece of my soul too.

Another long minute goes by before he finally looks up, his dark eyes meeting mine. “Yeah?”

I figure I’ve gone this far. I can’t clam up now. “Yeah. I’ve been on my own since I was probably too young for it.”

Probably.

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